disorder as the supporters of both men in their dispute over prices and territories began a melee that had spilled out into Duke Street.
“It amazes me,” the magistrate said quietly, in his appraisal of the facts, “that in this town prostitutes may give sewing lessons to ladies of the church, pirates may be consulted for their opinions on seaworth by shipbuilders, Christians and Jews may stroll together on a Sunday, and Indians may play dice games with leatherstockings, but let one silver piece fall in a crack between two members of the same profession and it’s a bloody war.” He put aside his papers and scowled. “Don’t you get sick of it, Matthew?”
“Sir?” Matthew looked up from his writing; the question had honestly surprised him.
“Sick of it,” Powers repeated. “Sick. As in ill. Of the pettiness and the never-ending pettifoggery.”
“Well…” Matthew had no idea how to respond. “I don’t-”
“Ah!” Powers waved a hand at him. “You’re still a young fish, not a cranky old crab like I am. But you’ll get here, if you stay in this profession long enough.”
“I hope to not only stay in this profession, but to advance in it.”
“What? Quilling transcripts, hour after hour? Arranging my papers for me? Writing my letters? And to become a magistrate some day? The honest fact is that you’d have to go to law school in England, and do you know the expense of that?”
“Yes sir, I do. I’ve been saving my money, and-”
“It will take years,” the magistrate interrupted, staring steadily at Matthew. “Even then, you must have connections. Usually through social ties, family, or church. Didn’t Isaac go over all this with you?”
“He…told me I’d need to be further educated in practical matters, and that…of course I’d have to formally attend a university, at some point.”
“And I have no doubt you’d be an excellent university student and an excellent magistrate, if that’s the professional path you choose to follow, but when were you planning on applying for placement?”
Matthew here had a jolt of what he might later term a “brain check,” in light of his interest and aptitude for playing chess; he realized, like a drowsy sleeper hearing a distant alarm bell, that since the death of Isaac Woodward the passage of days, weeks, and months had begun to merge together into a strange coagulation of time itself, and that what at first had seemed slow and almost deceptively languid was indeed a fast bleeding of a vital period of his life. He realized also, not without a sharp piercing of bitterness like a knife to the gut, that his fixation on bringing Eben Ausley to justice had blinded him to his own future.
He sat motionless, the quill poised over paper, his precise lettering spread out before him, and suddenly the quiet thrump of the pendulum clock in the corner seemed brutally loud.
Neither did Powers speak. He continued to stare at Matthew, seeing the flash of dismay-fright, even-that surfaced on the younger man’s face and then sank away again as false composure took its place. At length Powers folded his hands together and had the decency to avert his eyes. “I think,” he said, “that when Isaac sent you to me he considered you’d stay here only a short while. A year, at the most. Possibly he believed your wage would be better. I think he meant for you to go to England and attend school. And you still can, Matthew, you still can; but I have to tell you, the climate at those universities is not kind to a young man without pedigree, and the fact that you were born here and raised in an orphanage…I’m not sure your application wouldn’t be passed over a dozen times, even with my letter as to your character and abilities.” He frowned. “Even with the letters of every magistrate in the colony. There are too many formidable families with money who wish their sons to become lawyers. Not magistrates for America, you understand, but lawyers for England. The private practice always pays so much better than the public welfare.”
Matthew found his voice, albeit choked. “What am I going to do, then?”
Powers didn’t reply, but he was obviously deep in thought; his eyes were distant, his mind turning something over and over to examine it from all angles.
Matthew waited, feeling like he ought to excuse himself to go home and spend the last of his remaining pocket-money on a few tankards full of the Old Admiral’s ale, but of what use was a drunken escape from reality?
“You could still go to England,” the magistrate finally said. “You might pay a captain a small amount and work on the ship. I might help you in that regard. You might find employ with a law office in London, and after a period of time someone there with more political currency than I possess might offer to champion you to a university of merit. If you really wanted to, that is.”
“Of course I’d want to! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because…there might be something better for you,” Powers answered.
“Better?” Matthew asked incredulously. “What could be better than that?” He remembered his place: “I mean…sir.”
“A future. Beyond the hog thieves and the ruffians fighting in the streets. Look at the cases we’ve heard together, Matthew. Did any of them stand out, particularly?”
Matthew hesitated, thinking. In truth, the majority of cases had involved small thefts or various petty acts of criminality such as vandalism and slander. The only two real cases that had intrigued him and gotten his mind working had been the murder of the blue beggar, the first year he’d come to work in New York, and the matter of the deadly scarecrow on the Crispin farm last October. Everything else, it seemed to him now, had been an exercise in sleepwalking.
“As I thought,” Powers went on. “Nothing much to report except the usual humdrum details of human malfeasance, carelessness, or stupidity, yes?”
“But…it’s those things that are usual in any pursuit of justice.”
“Rightly so, and that is the nature of public work. I’m just asking you, Matthew, if you really wish to give your life to those-how shall I put it-mundanities?”
“It’s suited you well enough, hasn’t it, sir?”
The magistrate smiled faintly and held up his frayed sleeve cuff. “Let’s not speak of suits, shall we? But yes, I’ve been happy in my chosen profession. Well…pleased is the proper word, I suppose. But satisfied or challenged? Of those I’m not so sure. You see, I didn’t volunteer for this position, Matthew. In the course of my work in London I made some judgments which unfortunately secured me some influential enemies. The next thing I knew, I was pushed out of a position and the only avenue open to my family and myself was a sea route to either Barbados or New York. So I’ve done the best I could, considering the situation, but now…” He trailed off.
Matthew had had the feeling that there was more to this line of thought than met the ear. He prodded, “Yes, sir?”
The magistrate scratched his chin and paused, constructing his next comment. Then he stood up and walked to the window, where he leaned against the casement to look down upon the street. Matthew swiveled around to follow his progress.
“I’m leaving my position at the end of September,” Powers said. “And leaving New York, as well. That’s what I’m speaking to Magistrate Dawes about today…though he doesn’t know it yet. You’re the first I’ve told.”
“Leaving?” Matthew had received no inkling of this, and his first thought was that the man’s health demanded a change. “Are you ill, sir?”
“No, not ill. In fact, since I made up my mind I’ve been feeling very perky lately. And I only did decide in the last few days, Matthew. It’s not something I’ve been keeping from you.” He turned from the window to give the younger man his full attention, the sunlight spilling across his shoulders and head. “You’ve heard me mention my elder brother Durham?”
“Yes sir.”
“He’s a botanist, I believe I’ve told you? And that he manages a tobacco plantation for Lord Kent in the Carolina colony?”
Matthew nodded.
“Durham has asked me to help him, as he wishes to concentrate only on the botanical aspects. Lord Kent keeps buying more land, and the place has gotten so large everything else is overwhelming him. It would be legal work-contracts with suppliers and such-and also managerial in nature. Not to mention three times the money I’m currently making.”
“Oh,” Matthew said.
“Judith is certainly well for it,” the magistrate continued. “The social harridans here have never exactly welcomed her with open arms. But there’s a town beginning to thrive near the plantation, and Durham has great
